Supporting Him
by Dobby's Socks
Summary: So we all know Sally Sparrow's side of the story. But what exactly happened to our other two favorite heroes? A retelling of "Blink" from the perspective of the Doctor and Martha Jones. one-sided Martha/Doctor
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, so there's multi-chapter stories I should be writing, but I've wanted to write this for a LONG time. I mean, seriously, the Doctor stuck on the slow path with no TARDIS and the fate of the universe resting in the balance? How can I resist? So, enjoy my take on what the Doctor and Martha got up to during "Blink".**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter One**

With one final shudder, the TARDIS stopped, and she loosened her tight grip on the console's railing, her lifeline during the particularly bumpy trips. Martha Jones had learned such precautions were necessary when travelling with a mad man for a pilot.

The man in question leapt up with a grin, already looking eagerly to the door and what lay behind it. "Right then, here we are!"

"And where's here?" She asked. He turned his manic grin to her as he shrugged.

"Not a clue. But! it's got to be somewhere interesting—the TARDIS kept picking up strange temporal fluctuations. What say we go and find out what's causing it, Dr. Jones?"

"Excellent suggestion, Mr. Smith," she played along, unable to keep from smiling back at the Doctor's enthusiasm. He gestured her forward and so she lead the way down the ramp, pushing open the door and stepping out. Her face soon fell, however, as she took in her surroundings. "A front lawn?"

He'd followed her out, his face scrunched up in that unbelievably endearing way when he was caught off guard, both a fortunately and unfortunately rare occurrence. Usually if the Doctor didn't know something, something bad was about to happen—but it was one of Martha's favorite faces.

"What? No, that can't be right. Hang on—I'm going to check," the rest of his sentence went unheard as he turned and dashed back into the ship. Martha shrugged to herself; if they were here, she might as well have a look around.

Heading down a path- though it was hard to tell, everything was so disorderly and overgrown –she slowly approached a rather sizable house. It appeared to be the only one in the immediate vicinity, with a wrought-iron gate to keep out trespassers. Of course, the TARDIS had landed them on the other side, permitting them special access. The house itself was done in rather standard, almost bland colors, but obviously a long time ago, as she could count several boarded up windows, a few shingles were missing from the roof, and the paint appeared to be chipping in some places.

The lawn contained more greenery than simple grass, and she thought that it was probably a rather pretty garden back when it had been tended to. But now it was just as wild and unplanned as the rest of the property, the only vestige of grandeur left over being a tall statue of an angel with eyes covered by its hands.

"Martha?" The Doctor called, and she spun on the toes of her boots, not having realized she'd walked out of sight of the TARDIS.

"Over here, Doctor," she responded, raising her voice loud enough so he would hear. The crazy mop of hair soon poked around the corner and he smiled, trotting up to her with hands in his pockets.

"Taking in the scenery?"

"Yes, actually. It's all rather pretty, in a bit of a sad way," she told him. Everything around them abandoned and left to struggle on on its own.

"Yes," he murmured, nodding slowly in agreement. His eyes slid her way and a smirk crossed his face. "Still, it means no one will mind if we just take a little peek instead, doesn't it?"

"I suppose it does," she acknowledged, shaking her head with a grin as he took long strides to the door.

"It's locked!" He called over his shoulder and shortly afterward she heard the familiar whir of the sonic screwdriver. Martha hurried after him, ducking under the outstretched arm of a statue placed just off the path. He waited for her on the threshold and then pushed the door open. Together, they stepped into the dimly lit front hall.

Passing from room to room, Martha began to notice a pattern. The walls were bare, the rooms sparsely furnished, and what furniture was there was covered. "Doctor, I think the people who lived here were moving."

"You're probably right," he replied, crouching down and lifting a flap of white cloth to look at the couch underneath. "But for whatever reason, they didn't get to finish."

"You mean they just stopped?" She couldn't help giving a little laugh at that. "If that's the case, why aren't they still here? Where'd they go?"

"Where indeed?"

She sighed, glancing once more at his turned back before stepping into the next room. It appeared to have been the sitting room, with large walls and peeling paper covering them. She was about to head back when something caught her eye. It looked almost like a corner to a drawing, just poking out beneath the wallpaper. Reaching up slowly, she tugged on the brittle paper, removing a whole strip to reveal the letter B.

"Doctor!" She shouted, and he rushed into the room. "I think somebody's written a message on the wall underneath this wallpaper."

"It appears so. Good eye, Martha," he complimented, and she blushed, glancing away as he dug around in his pockets. "Hm, seem to have misplaced my glasses…" he muttered, taking out various items, many of which that just should not have fit; a Rubik's cube, a cricket ball, a Yale key on a chain—identical to the one she owned and treasured—and 3D glasses among them. The Time Lord placed them in a pile on the dusty mantle, a frown marring his features. "Maybe I left them back in the TARDIS," he was speaking mostly to himself now, turning and walking to look out of a window at the ship.

Martha returned her attention instead to the letter on the wall. "Should I uncover the rest of it?" She suggested, curious to see the entire message.

"There's something missing," he said, and when she faced him again he was still staring out of the window.

"Aside from your glasses, you mean?" She joked, but he did not share in her amusement.

"Martha…when we came here, wasn't there something outside? Besides the plants, I mean."

"Um, maybe?" She offered, not having expected a quiz. "A- a statue, I think."

"A statue?" He whirled about to look at her, alarm being the primary emotion displayed.

"Yeah, there was a statue," she repeated, sure of herself now. He raced back across the room to her.

"We need to leave. Now," he ordered, his tone brokering no argument. But that just left her baffled.

"What- Doctor, why?" He didn't seem to be listening, running a hand through his wild hair. "What about the message?" She asked instead, gesturing back to the wall.

"No, no, don't uncover that, there's no time. We've got to get out of here." He snatched the assorted pile of his belongings off the mantelpiece, but in his haste some of it fell to the floor. Grumbling at himself under his breath, the alien crouched down once again and began stuffing things in his pockets. She simply could not understand this. It wasn't like the Doctor to want to leave a mystery untouched.

"Don't you want to know what it says? What's so important about a—"

He'd glanced up at her briefly with a look of irritation before returning to his task, but his eyes suddenly widened in horror as his head snapped back up.

"Mar—!"

But something cold and hard touched down on her shoulder and everything went dark.

**So there's the first chapter! I was originally going to make it a one-shot, but I thought that would be too long. This won't be as long as my other multi-chapter fics, so don't worry about that. At any rate, thanks for reading and please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, so I'm finally getting back to this. Apologies for the wait; I need to get better at managing updates for my stories. Regardless, I'm glad you all liked the first chapter, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Two**

She felt like she was being pulled across an unbelievably huge distance in an impossibly short time, the breath was taken from her lungs, and there was a very real possibility she was about to be sick. Disoriented, Martha stumbled and would have fallen if a pair of familiar, lean arms hadn't caught her and pulled her into a solid chest.

"It's alright, Martha, I've got you," the Doctor said soothingly, patting her back as she shook uncontrollably.

"What _was_ that?"

"The statue." When she pulled back to look at him in disbelief, he gave a heavy sigh. "Let's sit down, alright?"

Martha looked around properly for the first time, and couldn't help giving a small cry of surprise. Where had the house gone? If she had to guess where they were now, she'd say a small side-street in an urban area. Feeling more lost than she ever had on their travels, Martha simply joined the Time Lord who'd plopped down on the pavement, leaning back against a building. "We've moved from a house to a city. How'd a statue manage that?"

"It wasn't just a statue. It was a Weeping Angel." At her continued blank look, he sighed. "The Weeping Angels are ancient creatures; the Lonely Assassins, according to some accounts, because of how they move. Well, more how they don't move."

"Come again?"

"A Weeping Angel can't move when you're looking at it. They're quantum-locked. That's why they look like statues when you see them. But as soon as you turn your head, as soon as you blink—just for a second, that's all they need."

"To do what?" She asked with increasing dread, and she really didn't like the solemn expression on his face. "Doctor, what's happened? What's it done to us?"

"I'm sorry, Martha. I'm so sorry. But we're trapped…in 1969."

"What?" She was in disbelief. "How can we be stuck in a year?"

"That's what they do. They zap you into the past, that's what they use as their energy to sustain themselves. They feed off time energy. And who knows how long they've been doing it. It could be that what happened to us happened to the original owners of the house—never got to finish moving in. And by forcing their victims into the past, they're able to absorb the energy of all those potentials and would have beens." He seemed awfully resigned to it, but Martha wasn't willing to accept it just yet.

"I don't even remember seeing it."

"That's because it was behind you. I tried warning you, but," he simply shrugged his shoulders in defeat.

"Sorry," she offered, feeling guilty and upset with herself for having gotten them into this mess.

He fixed her with a perplexed look before his eyes shifted away. "Nothing to be sorry about," he muttered.

"But can't we just go back to the TARDIS?"

The alien sighed and rubbed at his cheek for a moment. "Martha, _we're_ in 1969. The TARDIS isn't," he laid it out plainly, and she gasped.

"You mean—"

"We could go back to it in the future once the past versions of us got sent back to now, but it'd take about thirty-nine years."

"Thirty-nine years!" She exclaimed in horror, and he nodded. Martha drew her knees up to her chest, feeling something of a panic coming on. "Oh no, please Doctor. Tell me we aren't—not again." It was 1913 and the Family of Blood all over again, only worse because this time she didn't have the TARDIS as a refuge to run to.

But she did have the Doctor. The Time Lord slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight to his side. "I can't change what's happened, Martha. We're stuck, and we can only hope that—wait a minute."

He froze and she sat up straighter in response as a look of dawning realization spread over his face. "Doctor?" She prompted hesitantly, not wanting to but beginning to feel just the tiniest bit of optimism fluttering in her heart.

"Wait a minute!" He repeated again, this time ecstatic as he once more began to rifle through his pockets. The minutes seemed to drag on until at last he gave a triumphant noise and produced a bag filled with what looked like papers and even photos. "Oh, this must be it. I'd always wondered…"

"Doctor, _what_ is it?"

He looked up sharply, meeting her questioning gaze. "Martha, remember a while ago when we were outside that one shop and—"

"You'll have to be a bit more specific than that, Mister," she pointed out, and for once he didn't seem offended at being interrupted. Maybe he was just relieved she wasn't almost crying anymore.

"Um, well, there was a taxi and, er- oh! Four things and a lizard!" She nodded once in understanding, and both shared the slightest grin at the memory. "Right, well there was that shop girl. The blonde one, remember?"

In truth, she didn't remember very well at all. She could picture just the faintest outline of a blonde woman like he said, and recalled being just a little annoyed that he had been wasting time he'd said they didn't have by holding a seemingly random conversation with a stranger. But now, "What's she got to do with it, then?"

"Everything." He replied emphatically, then shook the bag. "She gave me this, and said that someday, I would get stuck in 1969. Well that's happened, so now I've got to take a look and see what Sally Sparrow has for us." He looked as though he was about to dive right in, too, in the middle of this sort of back street in some still nameless city, though probably a London from a past she didn't recognize. Martha would have likely let him, she was so in a daze, except the sky chose that moment to give an ominous rumble.

"Doctor," she said, gaining his attention once more. "what're we going to do in the meantime? I mean, what about meals, clothes, somewhere to sleep?" He stared at her as if she'd grown a second head—something that seemed more and more plausible the longer she travelled through the universe—and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Well we haven't got the TARDIS. And I don't think you'll be able to get a teaching post as easily in 1969."

She regretted saying it instantly, as he gave the slightest wince; clearly the events from 1913 were still just as much a sore spot for him as they were for her. "I, er, hadn't given that much thought," he finally offered at last, ruffling his hair a bit with one hand. "I'm going to need all the time I can get as it is, you know, figuring all this out. If we want even a chance of getting back home—"

"Ok, leave the income to me then," she stated determinedly, and a look of near relief passed over his features.

"You mean that, Martha?"

"Sure, it's only fair that if you're working to get us out of here, I should pull some weight, too." The sheer amount of appreciation that shone on his face made her blush just the tiniest bit, and she was glad to have volunteered. At any rate, she was hardly a stranger to work.

"Alright," he agreed easily enough, standing and offering his hand to pull her up. She took it and he continued to lead her out onto the main road. "Right, Martha Jones. Let's see what 1969's got for us."

"It's a lucky thing, this," she commented off-handedly, but he stopped to look at her.

"What do you mean?"

"That we got sent back together. I mean, if the people who lived in that house all got zapped by the Angels, they're not here with us. So I guess, I'm just saying I'm glad that we both ended up here." She figured his nervous throat-clearing was to alleviate embarrassment no doubt akin to what she was feeling for having actually said that.

"Yes. Quite lucky."

OoO

She tried to maintain that rather positive attitude, but as time seemed to drag on it became harder and harder. Martha tried not to sigh as she swept up the storefront after another slow day. Business seemed to be doing poorly, although she was hardly paying much attention to what and why. It wasn't easy, forcing herself to get up for work every morning and trying to get excited for another day of cashiering and sweeping.

What helped even less was the nagging thought that a certain Time Lord was sitting perfectly comfortable in their tiny little flat. Of course, she immediately felt bad whenever such thoughts came to her; the Doctor was trying to get them out of here, after all. Still, it hardly seemed he'd done anything so far aside from puzzling over the items from Sally Sparrow, spectacles—which he'd located finally deep in a pocket—perched on his skinny nose and brows knitted together. For a man of action, he didn't seem to be doing much.

At least the alien hardly ate anything; while this would normally concern the medical professional in her, money was more than tight at the moment, so as long as she brought home a bushel of bananas every so often he was happy. A bit too chipper for Martha's liking. To be honest, she'd expected him to be irritated, even angry, at their situation, but whenever she saw him, the Doctor always had a smile for her. Perhaps when she was out of the house he let his true feelings show.

"Martha, dear, why don't you head home early tonight?" Marlene, her boss, broke into her musings. "We're not likely to have anyone else in."

She couldn't help but smile gratefully, tired as she was. "Alright, thanks Marlene. I'll be in early tomorrow, promise." The older woman nodded before showing her out and locking the shop's doors behind her. Martha quickly made her way in the dimming light back to the flat, climbing the narrow stairs up three flights and at last inserting the key in the lock.

"Doctor, I'm, er, back," she stumbled a bit over the words, for in her exhaustion she'd nearly let the word 'home' slip out instead, something she'd sworn never to do. For one thing, Martha Jones refused to believe this was where she'd live the rest of her life, and for another, she was certain the Doctor would either laugh at her or rebuke her for such language. This certainly wasn't his home, not together with her.

She let a sigh escape as she placed her bag down and hung up her jacket, only then realizing she had yet to receive a response. "Doctor?" She called again, walking through the little hall that emerged out into their main living-space, kitchen and sitting room both meshed together. Usually the Time Lord was sitting at a tiny writing desk placed in front of the single window, pouring over both Sally and his notes. But the chair was empty.

Martha did a half-turn back into the hallway to check that indeed the Doctor's long coat was missing. In fact, aside from a few bits and pieces of something still lying on the desk, she could almost trick herself into thinking that no one shared this flat with her at all. And that terrified her.

"Where could he have—" she muttered to herself, throwing the jacket back on and making for the door again. Because a fear had seized Martha, jumped up and grabbed her heart in a vice-like grip. What if the Doctor had figured out how to return to the TARDIS while she was at work? And what if he hadn't waited—

A knock sounded on the door before her fingers could close on the knob, and Martha took a step back. These doubts being whispered in her head made her feel incredibly alone and vulnerable, and she suddenly realized she was living not only in a city, but in a time of strangers. She had no idea who could be behind that door.

Until he spoke.

"Martha? Are you in there?" The Doctor's voice, a bit muffled, called hesitantly. "I forgot my key—locked myself out."

With a relief that nearly made her weak at the knees, Martha hurriedly unlocked the door, pulling it open with a wide smile. But that soon dropped off her face when she got a proper look at him.

"Brilliant," the Doctor grinned at her, "wasn't sure if your shift was done or not."

"Well you're lucky, Mister, cause Marlene let me off early," she managed before her curiosity finally got the better of her. "What is that?" She asked, pointing at the strangest contraption she'd seen since the sonic screwdriver. "And what have you got all over you?"

The alien looked down at himself. "Oh," he stated, bringing his free hand up to scratch at his ear in that habit of his. The other held out the odd device for her examination. "This is a timey-wimey detector."

"And what does a timey-wimey detector do?" She decided to simply accept it. It was better than him getting fed up with explaining everything to her.

"It detects temporal anomalies, specifically ones caused by Weeping Angels. We're going to need it if we want to get back," he informed her. "As for the stuff on me, _well_, I was taking it on a test run and found a rather interesting side effect."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow, and he nodded seriously.

"Oh yes. Boils eggs within a certain close perimeter. I'd say about thirty paces."

"And how did you find that out?" She couldn't help feeling a bit apprehensive, especially when he went back to scratching at his ear, his eyes focusing on some point over and to the side of her face.

"_Well_, I might have passed by a farmer's market while I was out."

Martha gaped. "You mean—"

"Every single egg," he confirmed. "Caused a bit of a riot, you could say. And it wasn't even the farmers that were the worst- I'm telling you, hens are murder! I've been hiding out for hours until I was sure I could sneak back here!"

She made a rather unintelligible noise, something between a scoff and a laugh, before giving way to giggles. He paused in his epic tale to give her an odd look before his face split into that silly grin, and they laughed together. After some time, though, he asked, "So, mind if I actually come in, now?"

"Oh!" Flushing a bit, Martha moved away from the door, but as he took a step forward, she threw out her arms. "Wait, coat and jacket off first, I'm not letting you get dried egg-whites and yolk all over the floor." He groaned, to which she rolled her eyes. "Stop that, I brought your other suit from the cleaner's this morning." She had no idea how he'd managed to find nearly an exact replica of his usual outfit, but he had. So with only some minor childish complaining, the Doctor divested himself of the top layers of his clothing, and Martha fetched a bag to put them in. "Get changed and put the other things in here. I'll start on dinner."

He actually did have a small portion of what she cooked, perhaps hungry from all the running he'd done today, and Martha couldn't help but smile to herself when he wasn't looking at the way they were sat across from each other at the table. It wasn't ideal, per say, but the image was rather a pleasant one.

At some point she asked, "Now that you have the, um, timey-wimey detector, do you think we'll be getting back soon?"

He released a breath slowly, clearly thinking his response over. "It's not that easy, Martha. First of all, the timey-wimey detector has to actually _detect_ something. And then there's the other stuff we have to do to help Sally help us."

"Well, why don't we do those things now?" She couldn't help suggesting. "I mean, you have all the notes."

"You don't understand," he dismissed in that slightly patronizing tone, and she glanced away from him, a frown on her face. "We're in an ontological paradox, it's _very_ dangerous and _very_ unstable; one wrong move and the whole thing falls apart."

"What would happen to us?" She asked quietly, recognizing the severity in his tone and expression. But he simply shook his head.

"You don't want to know."

Martha wanted to argue that, yes, she did want to know and had a right to, but her body chose that moment to yawn. "Sorry, I just—"

"Get some sleep, Martha," he advised shortly, nodding toward her bedroom.

She wanted to protest, but thoughts of the early start next morning she'd promised Marlene made her drag herself from the chair and to her door. "You too," she added over her shoulder. When he looked up at her questioningly, she elaborated. "You ought to be tired after the hens and everything. Have you even slept since we got here?"

He just forced a smile on his face and replied, "Oh, don't worry about me, Martha Jones. You're already taking care of us enough."

Knowing it to be rather futile to argue, Martha merely sighed and said, "Goodnight." She only wished he'd involve her in his plans; working in the shop didn't seem very helpful if she didn't know anything about how they were going to escape the clutches of this year. As she slipped under the covers she heard him flick the desk-lamp light on and the quiet whirr of the sonic soon filled the air. Used to the noise by now, however, Martha easily drifted off to sleep.

**So once again, sorry for the wait, though hopefully your patience has been worth it. Alright, so I'm basically envisioning no more than two chapters after this; as I said in the beginning, I want this to be shorter than some of my other works. I'm hoping that by mapping this out beforehand, it will allow me to update faster, but we'll see how that goes. At any rate, thanks so much for reading, and please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok, so another chapter. Not going to lie, writing the one-sided Martha/Doctor in this story is kind of painful, mostly because I just feel really sorry for Martha. Ah well, she finds somebody in the end (go Mickey!). At any rate, enjoy the chapter!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Chapter Three**

Martha was behind the register late afternoon when the little bell attached to the door jingled, announcing she had a customer. She looked up and smiled at the tall, broad-shouldered man who entered.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah, only you can leave off the 'sir'. I just wanted a cuppa before I went on duty, miss," he replied with an easy grin.

She returned it with an equal smile as she began to make the requested drink. "Well, if we're being informal, it's going both ways. I'm Martha Jones, not 'miss'."

"John Benton, sergeant," he offered without being asked, but Martha raised an eyebrow.

"Sergeant of what, exactly?" The coat he was wearing did have some type of marking, stripes in a sort of v, on the arms, but she couldn't think of what a sergeant would be on duty for in London in 1969.

He gave a slight grimace, as if used to the question, but answered politely enough, "UNIT. That's the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce," Sergeant Benton added before she could even try to puzzle it out.

"I've never heard of it," she remarked, not completely surprised. It wasn't as if she was incredibly knowledgeable about that sort of thing. Still, it sounded like a rather important type of organization.

"We're fairly new, mi—Martha," the man corrected midway at her pointed look.

"That's funny," she said lightly, with a smile tugging at her lips. "I'm fairly new here, too." Martha didn't allow him to question her on that, instead asking, "What exactly does UNIT do? You said you were going on duty."

"Oh, well, that's the thing about this sort of job," he began, seeming a bit unsure of how to explain. She left him to come up with a proper answer as she retrieved his freshly brewed cup of tea. "You might laugh, really. Most people do."

She offered a warm smile. "How about I promise not to laugh, alright?" He nodded after a moment. "Sugar?"

"Please, I'll need the energy if it's another boring shift. Or if it's not, really." Sergeant Benton considered this as she stirred in the sugar. "See, you might not know if you haven't been in the city long—and most people who have still deny it—but there've been some funny things happening lately."

"Really?" She interjected, not even feigning her interest. Because she knew better now than to dismiss 'funny things'. Especially in their situation now. In fact, what if the Sergeant was referring to the very same thing? Perhaps this UNIT had come across the other victims of the Weeping Angels, much more lost than she since they didn't have the benefit of having the Doctor with them.

Sergeant Benton had continued with his explanation, however. "Yes. And we've found that the sources of these things are not always…of this Earth." Here he seemed hesitant, so she nodded to encourage him on. "So the UN created UNIT to deal with these sorts of incidents—these extraterrestrial incidents." She'd passed him his cup, and he took a sip, seeming to be distracting himself from her potential negative response.

"An organization specializing in aliens?" She realized right away, astounded at the very idea. And yet it made all too much sense. If aliens had been coming here and making all sorts of trouble since Shakespeare's day—and even earlier, according to the Doctor—why wouldn't people have formed some group to deal with it? Not even the Time Lord could be there all the time.

But this man had said UNIT was practically brand new, and she'd never heard of it in the present. So either it had gone underground, or was given up. Still, perhaps this was just the sort of help she and the Doctor needed now.

"Well, yes," Sergeant Benton admitted, adding with a weak chuckle, "Sounds barmy, doesn't it?" When she didn't laugh, however, he seemed to regard her with a new interest and maybe even respect.

"So what do you and UNIT do when these incidents happen?" Recognizing that this was probably beginning to sound like an interrogation, Martha added, "You said your shift might be boring. Are there really boring aliens?"

He grinned at that, but shook his head. "Not so far. But these incidents don't exactly have a schedule. Sometimes we think we've found something and it's a prank or not alien, so we never quite know when something will happen. Well," he seemed to reconsider, "we usually get sort of an advance warning."

"Oh?" She was rather confused by that vague statement. Having a device or indicator like that would be awfully useful—it might even keep her and the Doctor out of trouble.

"The Brig- er, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, he founded UNIT- has got a consultant of sorts. Always seems to turn up when it's something really serious. That's how the men know we're in for trouble," he clarified with a grin, taking another gulp of his tea.

The bell tinkled once again, but Martha was far too absorbed in this conversation to be bothered with even calling out a hello. Not only was she becoming more and more convinced that Sergeant Benton, and his superiors, could actually provide some type of assistance, she was also incredibly interested in UNIT itself. Here was an organization were people like this man got paid to do something she loved—helping people, especially when facing the unknown. What a thrill!

"But aside from that, it's desk work?" She asked, more to temper her growing excitement than anything.

He nodded with a chagrined expression. "That or patrols, reports, security detail. Afraid I can't be too specific—"

"Quite right, too," a familiar voice snapped, and Martha's head jerked up to see that it had not been another customer who had entered, but the Doctor. And though his face was blank as stone, his eyes were flashing with anger. He was practically livid. "Haven't you got a shift to get to, Sergeant?"

"Er, yes, sir," Sergeant Benton stammered, and the poor man seemed close to saluting her friend. As it was, he stood, placing the correct change on the counter for the drink. "Thanks very much, Mar—miss," he changed his mind once again, darting a look at the Doctor and then nodding to him properly with a, "Sir." The soldier then hurriedly exited the shop, under the steely gaze of the Time Lord.

Before Martha could demand some sort of explanation for his rather uncharacteristic coldness, the Doctor rounded on her. "What were you talking to him for?"

"Excuse me?" She replied, bewildered. What was wrong with talking? "He came in the shop, it's not exactly policy to ignore a customer!"

"Oh, but you can ignore me just fine," he countered, and it hurt, because she often wished she had the courage to say the same to him. "Too busy chatting up about _UNIT_." The title sounded like something distasteful on his tongue.

"Well, I was only asking—and hang on, mister, how do you know about UNIT, anyway?" He'd known the other man was a Sergeant, too, though maybe he'd gotten that off the markings of his uniform.

"Martha, UNIT handles all things extraterrestrial, and I happen to fall under that category," the Doctor reminded. "Why wouldn't I know?"

"Well, you've never mentioned them," she pointed out, unable to help the slight accusatory edge to her voice.

"Because I'd rather not bother with them, and neither should you," he replied firmly, the warning clear.

But Martha's head titled and she raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Are you telling me to stay away from them?"

"Yes."

"And who said you could make that call?"

They glowered at each other over the countertop, and she wasn't sure who was going to break the tense silence first. But neither of them did. Instead, a loud _ding!_ rang through the air.

"What—" Martha began, certain it was nothing in the shop.

The Doctor's eyes had lit up in excitement, though, and he reached into a pocket. "Finally!" Impossibly, he withdrew the timey-wimey detector, which had presumably made the noise, and seemed to have come to life. "A temporal anomaly—big one, too. Just what we need. Right then," he looked up with a manic grin, all traces of earlier anger at her or UNIT gone. "Allons-y!"

"But—" she started to protest, yet stopped when he glanced at her with a slight frown, not understanding. Marlene had left earlier, as she'd had an appointment, and had told Martha to close up at eight. It was just about a quarter till.

Marlene wouldn't mind, though, would she? And wasn't their eventual escape from here more important than her menial job? Martha had asked to help and here was the opportunity. Had she really been about to turn it down?

So instead, she nodded and set about turning off the lights and locking up. The Doctor was waiting impatiently on the front walk, practically bouncing on his heels when she finished. "Where to, then?" She inquired.

"No idea," he returned bluntly. He then lifted the timey-wimey detector. "This'll tell us, though. It'll lead us straight to Billy." And with that, he took off, his long strides covering a great distance.

Martha, however, needed a moment before she could begin. And then she was running to catch up, calling to him in bafflement, "Who's Billy?"

OoO

She felt a great deal of sympathy for the former DI Shipton once they'd met him, and that was only increased by the admiration he earned for readily agreeing to help the Doctor. Within a week, Billy was relatively settled into 1969 and had bought the equipment necessary for what the Doctor had planned.

"How exactly does this work, again?" Martha couldn't help asking as she and Billy assembled the autocue.

The Time Lord sighed. "I told you, Martha. Sally—and her friend—watched a video of me explaining everything to them, and were able to have a conversation with it because I was responding to what they were saying. That's because I've got a completed transcript of the conversation we're going to have," he waved the all-important packet of information once again. "Sally and, in some cases, Larry's words will appear on the autocue, which I will then respond to. Simple, see?"

"Not really," she and Billy both said at the same time, and they grinned at each other. The Doctor merely waved a dismissive hand.

Billy then went to the camera, starting it up. "Could you get the lights, Martha?" He requested, and she walked out of the camera's field of vision. "Ready, Doctor?"

"Whenever you are, Billy," her friend replied, and the man started recording. The Doctor placed his glasses on and watched the autocue for a moment before interjecting when it was his turn, "Yup, that's me." He paused for a moment, then dutifully added, "Yes, I do," quickly followed by a rather cheeky, "Yup. And this."

It was incredibly odd, only hearing half the conversation, and having to read the rest of it off the autocue. Martha slowly tiptoed closer to the edge of the camera's sightline, wanting to be able to understand what was happening. She was glad she had; she was learning far more about what had happened to them with the Weeping Angels through this than through asking the Doctor previously.

She also couldn't help beginning to note the Time Lord's use of the singular 'I'. It probably wasn't that important, and would likely just complicate things, but didn't she matter? Martha Jones was stuck in 1969, too, and she felt people ought to know. Just in case, after all, what if they didn't get back?

So she darted forward, leaning into the frame. "_We're_ stuck. All of space and time, he promised me. Now I've got a job in a shop. I've got to support him!" Those few short words just summed up everything that had been frustrating her this whole time.

But the Doctor turned to her with an affronted look. "Martha!" He practically scolded, and she instantly felt sheepish.

"Sorry," she muttered, ducking back out of view. Billy offered a shrug, and she looked away, heading back to the wall. Of course he'd react that way, she'd likely very soundly wounded his pride, and if the Doctor was anything he was prideful. But it was the truth. Didn't he appreciate her efforts at all? Or was he too busy saving the day with Sally Sparrow?

At last, she heard the Doctor call in a louder voice, "You can cut it off there, Billy." The other man nodded, stopping recording, and the Doctor stowed his glasses away again, jumping up from the chair. "Now, you've got to make sure this gets on these DVDs—all seventeen, and no others. Understand, Billy?" The Time Lord handed the former DI a list, and he nodded.

"Yes. Is that the message I'm giving to Sally?"

"Not quite. You're going to tell her exactly this: Look at the list." The Doctor fixed the man with a meaningful look, and it was not lost on Billy.

"You mean, I'm going to see her again?" He asked, a hopeful light to his eyes that suddenly changed to fear as he began, "You don't mean she—"

"No," the Doctor shook his head. "She doesn't get sent back."

Billy looked visibly relieved. "So I will see her in the future? My old time, I live that long?" Her friend nodded this time, and Billy smiled. "I'll look forward to seeing her, then. I'm glad I'll be able to spend time with her."

"It won't be long, Billy," the Doctor cautioned. "You'll see her one more time…and you'll have until the rain stops."

The smile faded from Billy's face as that sunk in. "I see," the other man said in a low tone. He walked to the door and held it open for them. "I'll make sure she gets the message. Goodnight, Doctor, Martha."

"Goodbye, Billy," the Doctor replied, and exited. Martha shot one sad, almost horrified look at the man before hurrying out herself.

When she caught up to the Doctor, she asked quietly, "Why did you tell him that? When he'll die?"

"Because he tells Sally," was the simple explanation. "She stays with him, until the end," he added, as if that might cheer her up. And while it comforted Martha to know that Billy would not be alone, she couldn't help her shock and even grief from turning to indignation.

"He tells Sally because you told him."

"Yes, because I know that he tells her! _Has_ to tell her, Martha, because that's what Sally wrote to me. I only know when he'll die because she told me, and told me that I told him. You see? Ontological paradox," he defended, sounding just a little frustrated by the end.

But Martha was just as annoyed, if not more. "Why do we have to bother with the stupid paradox anyway? Why can't we just break it? You _know_ he likes Sally, why can't we bring him with us when we go back?"

"Because it doesn't happen, Martha," he replied shortly. "And we need Billy to deliver the message."

"So we're just using him?"

"No!" He gaped, seemingly astonished she would think that of him. "But it's an established event in the timestream of the paradox that Billy Shipton delivers the message to Sally Sparrow and then dies. There's no getting around that."

She stared at him for a time, causing him to stop and look at her with some worry. They'd reached their apartment building, and so finally, Martha just marched away from him, inside and up the stairs.

"Martha. Martha!" He called after her, running up but not quite making it to the door before she slammed it shut and locked it. He'd forgotten his key, she was sure, he always did. So the Doctor was reduced to knocking and pleading with her to let him in.

"You're not even going to try to save him?" She inquired coolly, and was met with silence for a moment.

"Don't you think I would if I could?" His voice sounded so small, as well as muffled by the wood, and she could practically picture his big, sad eyes. "Don't you think I would take them all back—Kathy Nightingale, every single one of the owners of that house? But I can't. For better or worse, they all have to remain and build new lives where and when they've been sent.

"But Kathy gets married and has a family, kids and grandkids. Billy marries, too. And maybe he likes Sally Sparrow now, but so does Lawrence Nightingale. Should I deny Larry's happiness by bringing Billy back with us, and leave Billy's wife alone in the past? I can't make those choices, Martha, no one can."

Of course he was being reasonable, and his arguments made sense, but she still felt it was all so unfair. Why did they have to even be tempted to make these choices?

She unlocked the door and pulled it open to reveal a rather weary-looking Doctor. The few lines on his face became even more pronounced at the sight of her. "This is why I didn't want you involved," he sighed, shaking his head and likely berating himself.

But Martha didn't want to be seen as weak, or unable to handle it. She'd meant what she'd said on the video; she had to support him. So Martha drew herself up and willed herself to calm down and reign in her emotions. "No Doctor, it's alright, I understand. You do what you can."

It seemed a small weight was lifted from his shoulders, for the Time Lord relaxed ever so slightly. "Right," he agreed softly, before his expression took on a determined edge. "And I _will_ save you, Martha. I can do that. Everything, all this, is to get you back. I promise." She nodded reassuringly, and he pulled her into a tight hug. "I'll make it all up to you," he murmured from somewhere above her head.

"Just get me to some nice, fun, safe planet, Mister, and that'll be apology enough," she commented, holding onto him just as much. He chuckled at that, and she smiled into his shoulder. She tried not to get her hopes up when he held her there longer than was strictly necessary. There would be time to think about that once this was all behind them.

**Ok, so just one more chapter to wrap it all up. We got the infamous DVD-filming scene, which was what mostly inspired me to write this story, and is where the title comes from. Any lines you recognize come directly from "Blink". And yes, Sergeant Benton in this fic is the same Sergeant Benton from the Classic Series, a member of UNIT, which happened to be founded in—you guessed it—1969! I thought it'd be fun to have Martha sort of accidentally stumble onto it, just as a way to introduce her to the idea, since we never actually saw her learn about it/join it in the show. At any rate, let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading, and please review!**


End file.
